Thank you
by citigirl13
Summary: For just one moment, one blissful moments he thinks it might just be him.


**Another one-shot. Ideas are popping in my head all the time at the minute. This is quite an angst story for me, but it felt good to write it down. **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Vampire Diaries or any of the characters; this is done merely for entertainment purposes; I gain nothing but practice in my writing. **

**Thank you **

She stands at the top of the staircase. Even though she's not in a purple/blue dress and her hair isn't curled right down her back, she is still like a fairytale princess. Is it wrong for Damon to feel like a white knight, after he's fought a horrible monster for her? Is it wrong for him to be the hero and not the devil just this one time? Is it wrong for him to look up at her with pure hope in his eyes?

Yes, it probably is.

Yet Elena is looking down at him with exhaustive relief, with joy glowing in her eyes. _If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up. _He can't help but smile, and he wishes he wasn't because he knows it's one of those gooey, mushy smiles that are only seen in romantic films. With that smile comes hope – for the first time in a long time he allows it to fill him, to actually allow himself to believe that perhaps, just maybe, things will work out.

Maybe he's finally proven himself to Elena. Maybe she will see him, his true self: the one that is scared to open his heart again; the one that has sex because it can be meaningless; the one that has sex because he misses the closeness of another person. The one that once would like to be held – though he would never in a million years admit that. Before Elena held him when he realised Katherine wasn't in the tomb, he hadn't been held – truly, honestly held by a person that wasn't compelled – in years. Not since his mother...

Elena rushes down the stairs, like a colt running for the first time. He can almost believe that she will run into his arms, that he will pick her up and swing her round, that he will hold her tight and never let her go again.

That he will kiss her. Really kiss her, not her evil doppelganger. It will be just like when he kissed her on the porch, except it won't be Katherine. Finally, it will be Elena.

Finally, it will be Damon and Elena.

Three seconds is all that it takes for that dream to crash and burn.

He realises suddenly that Elena isn't looking at him; her eyes are moving away from him. To his brother. Saint Stefan, the knight that has a sword, shield and his own coat of arms on his armour, steps in front of Damon. He takes the place that he has always held. Oh Damon had momentarily held it for what, a second? Or maybe he had never held it. Maybe he just thought he had.

But it doesn't matter. Either way Elena leaps into Stefan's arms, not even considering Damon, not even as a fallback.

_Of course_. Of course this is how it is. This is the fairytale ending, how things are meant to be. How could he let himself think that it was him? Since when was he that lucky? Why would Elena choose him, the dark brother, the brother that murders innocents (including her brother); the brother that turned her mother into a vampire; the brother that doesn't quite know how to love? Stefan is the one that she should choose: he calls when he says he will call; he comforts her when she needs it; he surprises her with little gifts – and not with a dead brother. He makes her feel special.

Damon so wishes he could do that.

The hug is long and torturous. It is as if he's been burnt over a grill, over an open flame. Elena's eyes are closed and she is smiling. Not a joyful one, but one of relief – a smile of someone that has finally come home. Why shouldn't she be relieved? Stefan's here now. He will protect her. She is safe in his arms. It almost makes him want to scream, want to break down because she could be safe in _his _arms. He would make sure of it. They could be something really and truly special, something to make the world stop and stare, make the world _believe _in love and second chances again.

But they will never know.

Elena happens to look at him. Can she read his mind, see what he's thinking? Maybe. Somehow she's always seemed to be able to do that. She must pity him (that makes him want to punch a brick wall) because she sends him something: a little gift for him. She won't forget the helper after all; she'll reward him with something.

She mouths _Thank you. _

And ssuddenly it doesn't matter that it's not him, that she's not in his arms. Somehow it's enough for him. Does he really deserve anymore than a thank you anyway? It's enough that she appreciates him; that she remembers he's there. It's enough for him.

He can't be the star in her life. Hell, he can't even be second place. But he can be in the show, and that's enough for him.

If you love something, set it free. And it's in that moment that Damon knows for certain he is in love with Elena, because he is willing to let her be with Stefan. Seeing her in his arms makes him certain; she's happy with him.

Does it really matter that it's not him that does it?

He returns her gift with a sign of resignation. A signal that he gets it. He understands.

_You're welcome. _


End file.
